


Five Compressions: Breathe

by Maygra



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Gen, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1997-06-01
Updated: 1997-06-01
Packaged: 2017-11-01 13:02:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/357086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maygra/pseuds/Maygra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim, Blair and Simon, et al Belong to Pet Fly. Andrew belongs to God. This material may not be copied or distributed without my permission--I don't want anyone hunting me down--I have enough problems. Do not link, publish or post this material without permission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Compressions: Breathe

MAYGRA DE RHEMA

© 1997

Don't. Don't. "Don't!" Jim's own scream was loud in his ears still, minutes later, an eternity later. He hadn't been fast enough. Even though time had slowed, his perceptions had telescoped, focused on one thing and one thing only; he hadn't been fast enough.

"Epi in!" The paramedic snapped, popping a second syringe, the droning whine on the heart monitor uninterrupted by the precious sound of rhythm. Jim hung back, crouching, aware Simon stood behind him in silent witness to the destruction of his detective's life.

"CHARGED!" Three hundred joules of electricity pumped into the body on the sidewalk. Close by and covered with a blanket was another body. No one was working on it. The kid was dead. Don't. Don't. Don't! The kid had been dead and dropping before Blair ever touched him and that save had put Blair exactly where neither he nor Jim had wanted him to be.

Under the gun. Again.

"Bag him!"

Jim jerked until he realized they were not in a war zone...exactly...and that "bag him" meant use the hand pump to force air into the unresponsive lungs as opposed to a body bag. They hadn't given up yet. Don't give up on me, Blair.

"I still got no rhythm," one of the paramedics said into the radio-link. He listened for directions from the hospital, scribbling furiously on a pad. "Second IV-Piggyback it," he commented to his partner.

Come on, partner. Don't do this. Jim rose, crept closer, staring down at his partner. He could barely tell it was Blair. The pump and oxygen covered his face. His shirts had been sliced and cut open, the tattered bloody ends shifting heavily on the sidewalk under the wind from passing cars.

Jim listened. Nothing. Nothing but the air hissing in and out under artificial means, the same with the heart, irregular flutters of almost unnoticeable sound even for Jim's Sentinel abilities. But he knew the body, the form, the scent. The *presence* of the man laying so still and quiet....

His helplessness was rapidly changing to anger, the fear mounting to a level he couldn't handle, didn't want to face. Only two choices--give into it completely or transmute it. Make it something familiar, almost welcome.

"Don't you fucking die on me, Sandburg." It was a soft expletive, under his breath but Simon heard it, the slender dark hand gripping his shoulder tightly for a moment and then he moved away as the uniforms brought out the surviving members of the gang.

Not one of them over eighteen. Most of them no older than the sixteen year old Blair had so desperately tried to save. That anger rose up to encompass the four boys, hate urging him to condemn them without question for their foolish, blind, irresponsible actions.

Cultural identity, Jim, he could hear Blair saying it, the blue eyes intense as he fought for explanations of the waste of life he saw on the streets. They have nothing else to hold on to except the gang, the blood, the brotherhood. It's not who they are--its what they need to survive.

And what do you need, Sandburg? Tell me--please. Open your eyes and tell me what it will take and I'll find a way to make it happen. Come on, Chief.

The plea went unnoticed as one of the paramedics swore again, phone pressed between ear and shoulder, popping more syringes, more drugs. The wound in Blair's chest was bleeding more slowly and Jim could not for the life of him--or the life of Blair--remember if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

"Transport!" The paramedic snapped as his partner packed the wound. "He's dipping again. They want him on a table five minutes ago."

Jim moved back, wanting to help, but afraid if he got too close he might feel that life slip away under his hands.

"You his partner?" The paramedic asked.

Jim nodded.

"You got anything to say to him, man, you better say it now."

The unexpected callousness from the paramedic caused the anger to surge again until Jim saw the face. Not callousness. The paramedic's face was set, his breathing calm but deep, heart steady and strong. This medic did *not* like losing people. He took it personally. He also didn't believe in lost chances, Jim saw, as the younger man inclined his head toward the patient on the stretcher.

"Go, Jim. I'll clean up," Simon murmured and Jim didn't need any further encouragement.

Anything to say? Volumes. He just needed Sandburg to promise to live until he got it all said.

Suddenly his hands were on the steel rails, moving, lifting, climbing inside the van with the first paramedic, the feisty one. He squeezed into the corner and found the medic pressing Blair's lax hand into his.

"Talk to him, man. Yell at him. Tease him...Whatever it takes. I can keep the body going but not the will. Talk!"

I don't know what to say. "I don't know what to say, Chief," Jim murmured, clasping the still hand that gave no sign of life save that it was still slightly warm. There was blood on the fingers, across the back of Blair's hand. Not much, just spatters, droplets that had matted the fine, dark hairs. Rust colored stains against the pale skin. "That was the stupidest thing you have ever done. Only you would dive into the middle of a fire fight. You are not Superman. Hell, you're not even Clark Kent," Jim muttered, squeezing the hand gently in time to the paramedic's working of the Abu bag. "That's it. Just keep breathing, Just let the air do its thing," Jim said to himself. Great. Scold him. Let the last thing he hears....No. No, I'm not going there...not now. Not yet

The paramedic slapped at the glass separating them from his partner. "Hit it, man. He's going down fast," he said tersely then swore again as the monitor went solid again. One tone. One line. The driver echoed his curse and started to pull over when he heard the whine.

The skin in Jim's hand was growing colder. "No."

"You know CPR?" the paramedic demanded.

"Yes."

"Good. Drive, Tony...we're two minutes out!" the medic snapped at his partner. The ambulance veered into traffic again.

"Okay, Five compressions and breathe--squeeze the bag twice. Keep the count in your head," the paramedic directed, pulling out the defib paddles and charging the system. "Go!"

Jim shifted, found the spot, annual first aid training asserting itself in his psyche as he found the spot just above Blair's diaphragm, right below his sternum. His hands were slicked immediately with blood but he pressed down, hard and sharp, hands slipping on the crimson. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

"Ignore the blood," the paramedic said as Jim hit the bag, red glaze dying the clear plastic. An injection, a check of the monitor and Jim was back putting pressure on the chest.

"Come on, man. Pick up the beat!" the other man growled. Snapping at Blair, not Jim.

Steady sound.

I got rhythm for you, Blair. Just hear it. Feel it. Jim thought. Five compressions. Breathe. Five compressions. Breathe.

"Clear! Pull the bag!"

The body lurched, flopped and went still. The monitor bleeped, chirped and went flat.

"In the lane!" the driver yelled back.

"Go!"

Jim went back to the CPR. One. This isn't how it's supposed to be, Blair "Come on Chief. I know you can fight for this..."

Two. You are supposed to observe, not participate "This is not a good way to end the day..."

Three. It's not about friendship--please. "You gotta fight for it."

Four. You son of a bitch....don't make me do this alone. "I know you can fight for this."

Five. Don't. Please. "You have way too much to say yet, Blair."

Breathe.

The van rolled to a stop and the monitor chirped once. A question. Again. An answer.

A third time...a protest. It wasn't over yet.

"Rhythm. We got Rhythm!" The paramedic shouted as the doors were popped. Jim shifted again, catching the warming hand and the rail. Lift and shove. He was on automatic and he knew it. He didn't care. Hearing kicked in to match the heart beat with the electronic chirp.

They stopped him inside the Emergency room, the paramedic as well. Both of them waiting as equipment was swapped, the paramedic grabbing the portables off the gurney as the staff moved Blair into a trauma room.

"They're good. The best," the paramedic said. "If I can get 'em here breathing, these guys keep 'em that way."

"Always?" Jim asked softly.

"Darn close," the man said, tone dropping. Not always then. He had lost a few and he did take it personally. A personal failure. God, I know that feeling.

"You did great," the man said, the first smile Jim had noticed appearing on the broad face. He was a big man, the paramedic. Taller than Jim. Broad shouldered, pale skinned, gold blonde hair worn long and the greenest eyes Jim had ever seen.

"Thanks. I'm glad you were there." The moment needed something. Jim stuck out his hand. "Jim Ellison. That's my partner, Blair Sandburg."

His hand was covered by a large palm, warm. Alive. Like Blair's had started to feel just before Jim released it. "Andrew. He'll be okay."

"You sound awfully sure."

That grin again. "I am. I have a knack for knowing which ones will make it and which ones don't. Jim," Andrew hesitated but went on when Jim nodded encouragement.

"All the things you didn't say in the ambulance? Make sure you do at some point. It's important."

The words were said softly, gently. The green eyes fixing his with an intensity that reminded Jim uncomfortably of a zone-out. Then it was gone. The easy grin was back as Andrew raised his hand in salute and went to join his partner at the nurse's station.

Jim stared after him. His chest was aching. A pressure hovering there as if something heavy were resting on it. Compressions. Breathe.

He did, feeling the pressure ease. Listening again to his own heartbeat then reaching for another.

He found it and voices as well, looking up as the doctor emerged, yanking off his mask, tired smile on his face.

"You with the man they just brought in?"

"Yeah. My partner," Jim said flashing his badge.

"Tough young man. Very tough and very lucky. We've got him. Solid. A couple of days of observation. We'll be moving him up to ICU in a couple of hours."

Jim glanced at the nurses station. Andrew was gone. His partner as well.

"Can I see him?"

"He's still..."

"I know. I just....for a bit. I need... want to talk to him," Jim finished lamely, certain the doctor would scoff but he didn't care.

"That would be a great idea," the doctor said. "Amazing what people recall when they are subjected to trauma."

Jim wasn't as surprised as he thought he'd be as he followed the doctor into the curtained cubicle. A nurse was finishing up, smiling at him. Blair still looked a bloody mess and there were two IV's and a transfusion bag running. He was pale, but not deathly so, and the hand Jim took carefully had a definite warmth to it.

"You must have angels looking out for you, Sandburg," Jim said as the nurse continued to clean. The mask was gone from the face, an O2 line in its stead. Blair might have been sleeping. Sheets covered the wound but there were still more dark stains than Jim wanted to acknowledge. "I wish you could have saved the kid, Blair. But I wish even more you hadn't tried. When you get on your feet again, you and I are going to have a little talk about the survival instinct... because I need you to want to survive, Chief...."

There. He'd said it. Or as close as he was going to get with the nurse watching her patient and trying to be very careful not to listen. Jim, talked quietly, squeezing the hand gently in time to the monitor.

Five compressions. Breathe.

Just keep breathing, Blair. Everything else falls in place as long as you make that your first priority. And keeping you breathing is my first, Chief. Always.

-finis-


End file.
